


helpless

by theheadgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Facebook: The Pen15 is Mightier, Prompt Fill, Romance, Triwizard Tournament, Yule Ball (Harry Potter), prompt exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27744127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadgirl/pseuds/theheadgirl
Summary: Prompt fill: "An otherwise canon compliant story wherein during the fourth book/movie Fleur and Cedric fall hopelessly in love."Of all the people Cedric Diggory should not be flirting with, Fleur Delacour tops the list. Not that that's going to stop him - and if he's lucky, maybe she'll flirt back.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Cedric Diggory
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10
Collections: Pen15 is Mightier Prompt Exchange 2020





	1. i have never been the type to try and grab the spotlight

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Pen15isMightierPromptExchange2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Pen15isMightierPromptExchange2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> An otherwise canon compliant story wherein during the fourth book/movie Fleur and Cedric fall hopelessly in love.

“I know we don’t get a vote in this, mate,” Edward says indistinctly, around his mouthful of pumpkin pasty, then swallows, “but if we did, I’d vote for you. No one else in this school would do as well as you.”

“Thanks,” I say, “for the vote of confidence and not getting pumpkin all over me. But I know anyone here would do a great job representing Hogwarts.” 

Edward tilts his head back towards the Slytherin table. “Even them?” 

I look, too. Although I’m sure every Slytherin who’s seventeen has put their name into the Goblet (just like, honestly, probably _every_ student who’s seventeen - and judging by the beards I see around the Great Hall here and there, a few who are under seventeen, too), my eyes go to Lucian Bole. I know he put his name in the Goblet, because I’d passed him as I was leaving. He hadn’t spoken a word to me, just slammed his shoulder into my arm. I couldn’t prove he’d done it on purpose, so I didn’t bother reporting it to anyone. He’s sitting near the middle of the table now, head bowed with two other Slytherin seventh-years, and they appear to be in the midst of a fairly intense conference.

He’d be … fine. I guess. Bole is a decent Beater, but I don’t know anything about his academics. Would he be able to represent Hogwarts to the whole world? What if he tried to pull something underhanded, the way Slytherins did when it came to Quidditch? Merlin knows I’ll never forget the time that some of them dressed up as Dementors in an attempt to sabotage Potter. 

All right, fine. I can be fair, but there’s being fair, and then there’s stretching it to the point of incredulity. 

I look over to the Ravenclaw table next, trying to figure who put their name in from that group. Of anyone, I’d bet it would be Roger Davies. Right now, he’s holding court near the center of the Ravenclaw table, with a group of rapt younger kids hanging on to every word. He’s a decent bloke but a showboater - likes those flippy broom moves and maneuvers that look very cool but don’t actually _do_ a whole lot. I’ve no idea what they would ask of the champions in this contest, but my main concern would be style over substance. Whatever he did would look good, but would he be able to win? I can’t say for sure. 

Of everyone who I know put their name in, and if it can’t be me, I think I’d be most okay with Angelina Johnson being named champion. She’s laughing with the Weasley twins over at the Gryffindor table, and I guess she feels me looking at her, because she flashes that bright smile at me and tosses a wave. I wave back. She’s smart, fast, brutal on the pitch, and knows her way around spells and hexes. She follows the rules and would do her best. 

Then there’s the totally unknown elements - the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. The Durmstrang students seem to be in their ship all the time and I guess the Beauxbatons students are staying in the carriage they arrived in. I barely even know their faces, except for Viktor Krum’s, of course. Aside from Potter, he’s the most famous person here. Maybe some of the other Durmstrang students are more qualified, but it seems to me that it’s pretty unlikely anyone _except_ Krum would be picked. 

Beauxbatons, though? Total mystery. If you took them out of the fine silk uniforms and put them into Hogwarts uniforms, I don’t think I’d be able to identify them as not being Hogwarts students. I look over them one more time, just to see if any of them stand out to me. Maybe I’ll be able to spot a spark. 

One of the students looks up as I look over. Our eyes lock. Her eyes are deep, deep blue, almost purple. I remember, one time in potions class, Professor Snape was lecturing us about the different alchemical properties of different gemstones, and how you had to be mindful about any inclusions in the stone, the size of it - even the color of it made a difference. 

“For instance,” he’d said, holding up a blue stone, “this sapphire can only be used in certain potions, as it is a color-changing sapphire.” As he held it, it looked like a deep and rich blue, but as he moved it towards the torch, the color shifted to lavender. Her eyes are exactly like that. 

It feels like time must have stopped, that everyone in the Great Hall fell silent, that the only thing I can hear is the sound of my own breath and my heart pounding in my chest. She’s staring back at me, and her lips part slightly. 

Then the sound suddenly returns in a rush, and I look around, surprised, then back to her. She’s looked away as well, and I think I see a faint, ice-pink blush on her pale cheek. The moment is gone. 

I’m gonna get her name, I think, feeling dazed. Professor Dumbledore gets to his feet. I have to get her name. 

“Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” Professor Dumbledore says. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through to the next chamber, where they will be receiving their first instructions.”

He waves his wand, and all the lights except for the candles in the jack o’lanterns go out. The blue flames suddenly surge red, throwing up a piece of paper, which Dumbledore grabs.

“The champion for Durmstrang,” he announces, “will be Viktor Krum!”  
  
The applause and cheering is deafening. Things finally settle down when the goblet flashes red once again, and Dumbledore grabs the second piece of paper.

“The champion for Beauxbatons,” he says, “will be Fleur Delacour!”  
  
I look over at the Beauxbatons delegation, and - it’s her. She’s standing up. She moves as smoothly and gracefully as a dream, and her hair - a silvery gold shimmering sheet - moves like silk. She hardly tosses a backwards glance as she moves towards the front.

Fleur Delacour. Her name is Fleur Delacour, and she’s the Beauxbatons champion. 

“The champion for Hogwarts will be Cedric Diggory!”

… and I’m the Hogwarts champion.

I don’t even know what I’m doing. I hear the screaming and the applause as I get to my feet, and I feel like someone else is guiding me towards the back. 

She’s the Beauxbatons champion. I’m the Hogwarts champion. 

Great.


	2. the sky's the limit

Madame Maxime has not stopped complaining about the fourth champion since the poor boy’s name came out of the Goblet two weeks ago. Despite her constant protests that Dumbledore must have cheated the Goblet to give Hogwarts an unfair advantage, I really don’t think so. The boy looked terrified, not at all like this was something he’d expected to happen. Marjolaine thinks he’s just a very good actor. Maybe she’s right, but I’m inclined to doubt it. 

As Madame Maxime pushes open the door to the room for the wand-weighing ceremony, I watch her sourness get swallowed down and her smile come bubbling up. I wonder if Professor Dumbledore believes it, or if he sees right through her. 

I stand and wait for Madame Maxime to take her seat, then I sit next to her, careful to cross my legs at the ankle and hold my wand so it doesn’t appear to be a threat. I wouldn’t get much more than a scolding if Madame found my posture or body position wanting, but with the mood she’s been in, I’d rather avoid it at all. 

The door opens again, and I look over. Stepping in is the  _ other _ Hogwarts champion - Cedric Diggory. He’s entering with Professor Dumbledore, and I take my time looking at him while he’s not looking at me. Now this one I believe actually signed up for the tournament. He’d looked a bit like he’d been hit in the face with a bat when he’d joined Viktor and I in the back room, but then agan, he’d also just had a charged moment with me. It would be stupid to act like I don’t know I have that effect on men. 

He holds the door for Professor Dumbledore, and I take in the line of his shoulders, the way his muscles shift under that dreadful grey sweater. He smiles at the professor, and something in my heart skips a beat. Just then, he looks up, and our eyes meet again. The smile twists into something curious, maybe a little delighted, and he steps over to Madame and me.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks, nodding to the chair next to mine. I look at it, and I shrug a shoulder, elegant, uncaring. 

“I don’t believe so.” 

“Great. Thanks.” He sits in it, crossing his legs, ankle to knee, taking up every inch of space he’s allotted. “D’you know what this is all about?”

“Madame says this is to ensure our wands are working properly.” 

“Makes sense. We’ll need them.” He pauses for a moment, taking in the room, then nods to my lap. “What’s yours?”

I look back, and raise an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

He grins, easy, relaxed. “Sorry, should have been clearer. Your wand. What’s it made of?”

“Rosewood.” Madame glances at me sharply, as though telling him my wand wood is going to give him a deeply unfair advantage in the tournament. I take the hint and shut my mouth.

“Pretty.” He looks at me when he says it, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. Subtle, he is not, but it has a charm to it. 

Madame coughs next to me, and I turn to face forward, shoulders and back straight. Charming, yes, but also a distraction. I can’t let myself be distracted by dark grey eyes and an easy, sunny smile. 

I glance over at him again, and he’s still looking at me.

Well, perhaps a  _ small _ distraction wouldn’t hurt.


	3. you walked in and my heart went boom

The first task is dragons. 

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since Potter cornered me to tell me. I appreciate that he did it, but it’s been keeping me awake. Would it have been better to go in blind but well-rested? Either way, there’s a good chance I end up flash-fried. At least I would be able to get some sleep beforehand. 

“Ready for tomorrow, Ced?” someone calls out to me. I don’t even really think about it - just look up and smile, like I don’t have a care in the world.

“One way to find out, isn’t there?” I call back. “See you there!”

Cool. Calm. In control. Definitely not about to vomit all over my shoes and the shoes of anyone lucky enough to be near me. 

I turn a corner and spot two people huddled into a corner together. I am a prefect, and I probably ought to say  _ something _ , but as long as no one seems to be upset or in trouble then I -

My heart lurches to a stop as I recognize the smaller figure as Fleur Delacour. One of the seventh-year Gryffindors - Cinderford, I think his last name is - has his hand on the wall, next to her head, and is leaning in. I glance at her, intending to use her facial expression as an indicator of whether to step in or not. She looks - well, she looks annoyed. 

“Ah!” she says, interrupting Cinderford. She ducks out from under his arm, moves next to me, and hooks hers through mine in a series of fluid movements. “I need to speak to Cedric.  _ Au revoir _ .” She tosses her hair gloriously and Cinderford looks too stunned to be mad.

“See you around,” I say as well, and he does manage to glare at me as we go through the other end of the corridor. 

“You okay?” I ask, once we’re out of earshot.

Fleur tsks. “Fine, thank you.” She looks at me, and smiles, causing a bit of a sparkle in her deep blue eyes. “You have excellent timing. Your friend may not have been fine had you not shown up when you did.”

“I’ll remind him of that when he comes after me for interrupting the two of you,” I reply with a grin back at her. “Where am I walking you?”

“Where are you going?” 

“Library.” 

“I’m going the same way. I’ll let you know when we are done.” She goes quiet for a few moments. I don’t miss the envious stares from boys  _ and _ girls as we walk past. So this is what it feels like to be the center of attention. It’s kinda fun.

“How do you feel about tomorrow?” I ask.

Her eyes cut to me with a flicker of suspicion. I can’t say I blame her. We’re going head-to-head tomorrow, and she has no idea what I know - and I have no idea what she knows. 

“Fine,” she says, finally, her tone clear that that’s as far as she’s going. “And you?”

“Fine,” I echo. I glance at her and smile, and when she smiles back, it seems almost grudging - but possibly one of the first genuine ones I’ve seen from her. 

She glances away and then gracefully unhooks her arm from mine. “ _ Au revoir _ , Cedric. See you tomorrow.”    
  
“Thanks for the escort,” I say. She smiles, then, to my surprise, pops up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to my cheek. Then she’s off, the heels of her Oxfords clicking against the floor as she joins the other students from Beauxbatons. She doesn’t look back. I’m glad. 

I must look really stupid, after all, standing there with my hand to my cheek and a big smile on my face.


	4. everybody’s dancing and the band’s top volume

Roger Davies was a mistake. He’s very handsome, but he keeps staring at me with his mouth slightly open like he’s a fish bobbing for bread. Every time I ask him a question, he takes just a little too long to answer and then the answer is always “yeah, me too!” 

“Can you get me a glass of punch?” I ask him, then start to count: one, two … fish facial expression … three … 

“Yeah, me too!”

I smile. “Roger, the punch?”

He shakes himself a little. “Oh - uh - yeah, sure, of course.” 

“ _Merci_.” 

Alone for a moment, I step back, closer to the wall, happy to have a moment to observe, rather than be observed. There’s Viktor with Harry’s friend, the girl. They look radiant together, like her smile is lighting up the whole area around them. I’ve never seen Viktor smiling like that, either. She’s pretty, I think, with her hair smoothed down like that, and the dress flatters her as well. Of course, she probably won’t think it’s worth her time to fuss over something like that, so this will probably be the only time she puts this much effort into her appearance. 

I spot Harry next. He’s sitting at a table with his other friend, the redhead, and both of them look miserable. Their dates are gone. Harry looks like he’d rather be facing a dragon again instead of here. I’m amazed at the capacity of a teenage boy to ruin a situation. He’s a guest of honor at a beautiful ball and he’s just … sitting there, sulking. At least, I suppose, he’s got his friend to sulk with him. I hope he’s grateful for that.

That just leaves …

“Hey, Fleur!”

" _Bonsoir_ , Cedric.” I curtsy. He grins that crooked, quirk of a smile of his and bows in return. He looks very handsome tonight - his dress robes are sleek and black, and the dove grey tie sets off the grey of his eyes. 

“Where’s Davies?” he asks, glancing around like he might spot Roger hiding under a table or secreted behind a curtain. 

“Getting me a refreshment.” I notice he’s unaccompanied as well. “And your date?” 

He grimaces. “One of her friends just got dumped. She’s taking her back to Ravenclaw Tower so she can cry it out in peace.”

“What a shame she’s missing this.” I gesture to the ball, to the band on stage, to the spread of food. “She looked beautiful tonight.”

He nods. “Yeah. She’s a really good friend.”

Hm. I wonder if she knows she’s _a really good friend_. 

“She’ll be back, though, so it’ll be fine.” 

I spot Roger weaving his way through the crowd back towards us. For the moment, I’d rather continue having a conversation with someone who can maintain his part of it, rather than doing his best impression of a flounder. Quickly, I curl my fingers around Cedric’s arm and tug him towards the doors.

“Get some fresh air with me.” It isn’t _really_ a request. 

He glances over towards the crowd, and I know he spots Roger, too. He looks at me, and I tilt my head towards the door. 

Finally, he shrugs, holds his arm out to me more properly. Always the gentleman. “If you insist. I won’t tell a lady no.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t.” I slide my arm through his and, without a backwards glance, escort him into the gardens. 


	5. grab my sister and whisper, “yo, this one’s mine”

The night is cold and clear, and the stars shine above us. Fleur shivers, and I shrug off my jacket and offer it to her.

“You need this more than I do.”

She smiles a little, then takes the jacket and wraps it around her shoulders. “Thank you.” 

“ _De rien_.” 

I see her stiffen, then look at me with her brow furrowed, but there’s something really pleased in her eyes that makes me feel warm, even though I haven’t got my jacket. 

“ _Parlez-vous français_?"

I laugh. “No. I can say ‘hello,’ ‘thank you,’ and ‘good-bye.’ I learned them when my dad and I went to Paris a few years ago. Figured it would be good to know a few phrases, so I didn’t look like a total idiot.”

She looks at me for a moment, then glances away. “You are full of surprises, Cedric Diggory.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would not have expected a red-blooded English boy like you to bother learning any French. Most people wouldn’t.”

“Thanks, I think.”

Her arm is warm as she squeezes mine. “It _was_ a compliment.”

Behind us, there is a sudden loud _crack_ followed by shouting, then rapid footsteps. I turn, arm instinctively going out to push Fleur behind me, but relax when I see what it is. Professor Snape, along with Professor Karkaroff, are on the prowl, and it looks like they’ve just busted up some lovebirds. 

“Snogging in the bushes seems like a terrible idea,” I say.

“It’s cold,” Fleur agrees, wrinkling her nose. “And the bushes would scratch you. I would think there are much more pleasant places to kiss.” 

Am I dreaming, or is that a daring glint in those sapphire eyes?

“Oh, probably,” I say. I try to keep my tone even, in case I am misreading things. “A classroom would at least be warmer.”

“Hmm.” She tilts her head slightly. “Do you have a favorite?”

“I - “ I pause. “Wait a minute, am I giving Davies tips?"

“Not unless you _are_ a fool.”

I consider for a moment. My mind skips up the stairs to the Ravenclaw common room, to Cho with her arm around her inconsolable friend, and to Roger, wandering somewhere through the ballroom like a lost soul. 

I shouldn’t. I should stay here and wait for Cho, reunite Fleur and Roger, and let the spark between us stay just a spark. 

Maybe I _am_ a fool.

I hold my arm out to her. “I know just the place to show you.” 

She smiles like the cat that found the aviary. “Lead on, Mr. Diggory.”


	6. down for the count and I’m drowning in ‘em

“And you - you helped too -” I’m frantic with relief, and I swoop down and kiss Harry’s friend on both cheeks. He goes nearly as red as his hair and stammers out something, but I turn back to Gabrielle, wrapping her in my arms again and hugging her tightly. 

“ _You are suffocating me!_ ” she complains.

“ _I will suffocate you as much as I want_ ,” I reply, pressing a kiss to her wet hair. “ _I’m just glad you’re out of that death trap_.” 

I’d thought the Black Lake was beautiful when we’d spent afternoons strolling by it, a dark contrast to the snow-covered mountains behind it. Now that I’ve been in it, knowing that my baby sister was trapped at the bottom, seeing what horrors were below that placid surface, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at it without shuddering. 

“ _I was asleep the whole time! I wasn’t scared!_ ”

“ _I know you weren’t, my brave girl. Let’s get you warmed up._ ” 

Madame Maxime comes up to escort us back to the carriages, and as we walk off the platform, I look for Cedric. He's there by the railing, arm around Cho, and he glances up as I pass. Our eyes meet. My heart flutters.

Cho looks up at him, then across at me, and I can almost see the pieces falling into place behind her eyes. I decide to try and avert any suspicion - at least, as much as I can.

“You did well, Cedric!” I call. 

He grins. “Thanks! You too.”

We walk back to the carriages, and Gabrielle peppers me with questions about what it was like in the lake, and her excitement about the mermaids. I answer as many as I can, and her enthusiasm makes the freezing cold of the day recede just a little. 

At dinner that night, a younger boy with the yellow and black of Hufflepuff comes up to me and nervously extends a piece of paper. I can see that he’s got a few others stuffed into his hand. He’s got other stops to make.

“Thank you,” I say, taking it. Without even opening it, I know it’s from Cedric.

“ _Another love note?_ ” Chloe asks, glancing down at it. 

“ _Probably,_ ” I reply. “ _I_ _don’t even read them._ ” 

When she looks away, I flick the note open just long enough to skim the words inside. His handwriting is neat and no-nonsense, like him. 

Meet me at 8?

I flip the note closed and look across to the Hufflepuff table. He looks up just at the right time, and I nod. He grins, and my heart feels warm again. We had agreed we would try to be subtle, but I don’t think subtlety is in his nature. Everything he feels scrawls itself across his face. Normally I would find that obnoxious, but on him, it’s charming. I smile back, then have to look away so no one suspects. He might be able to get away with an utter lack of subtlety, but I am not so lucky. 

It takes a bit of doing to get away from my classmates that evening - I eventually tell them I’m going to the library to research for the final task, which I don’t think any of them believe - but I do make it to the classroom, although a few minutes late. When I push open the door, Cedric hops off the desk, his relief and joy clear.

“I was worried you wouldn’t be able to get away,” he says, and he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me tightly to him. 

“It’s 8:02,” I reply, but it’s lost as he bends down to kiss me. It’s gentle, at first, like he’s making sure it’s all right with me, and of course it is. Soon, things escalate, tongues and hands and mouths exploring, his body firm against mine, and I feel soft and pliant against him. He breaks the kiss just long enough to pick me up - I let out a noise of surprise, looping my arms around his neck - and he sets me down on the table where he’d been sitting, hands planting on either side of me.

“Isn’t that better?” he asks. 

I smile, and curl my legs around his waist, pulling him flush up against my body. “The leverage is much better.” He lets out a soft groan and dives back down to kiss me again, deep and hungry. 

The kissing winds down after some time, and I reach up and tuck an errant strand of hair behind his ear, just taking him in. Cedric really is something to see - sharp angles and broad strokes, but there’s a twinkle in his grey eyes like he’s got the joke and he can’t wait to share it with you. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, leaning his head against my hand.

“You,” I reply. He goes a little red, but what’s from embarrassment and what’s from exertion is hard to say.

“What about me?” 

“You’re different from the other boys, do you know?” He seems confused, so I continue, “The other boys … they look at me and they see a trophy, a piece of meat. They see something they could own and empower themselves by possessing. You have never looked at me like that, though. I feel like when you look at me, you see a person. You see _me_ , not just what’s outside.”

“Of course I see you,” Cedric replies. He takes my hand in his and rubs his thumb over the back of my hand, gentle. “Yes, you’re beautiful, but what’s really important is what’s here.” He presses our joined hands to the center of my chest.

I burst into laughter, breaking the moment. “You are _unreal,_ Cedric Diggory.”

He grins, and I’m glad I didn’t hurt his feelings by laughing at his incredibly cheesy line. “This is real enough, isn’t it?” He rolls his hips against mine, and I draw in a sharp breath. 

“Come here,” I order him, and he crawls closer, eager enough to prove to me over and over again that he is quite real. 


	7. swear to God as long as I’m alive you’ll never feel so -

I stand outside the maze in my yellow and black jersey, and I feel like I’ve got electricity running through my veins. People are cheering and hollering from the stands. I spot my dad, sitting with Cho, and I wave to them both. My dad pumps his fist, then elbows the person next to him to get their attention. I can’t hear what he says, obviously, but knowing my dad, I can guess - something along the lines of “that’s my son down there! He’s going to win and beat Harry Potter!” 

_Dad._

Bagman blows the whistle for Harry and I to go in, and I look at Harry. Harry looks vaguely green, and I give him what I hope is an encouraging thumbs up before we both start into the maze. I’m a few turns in when I hear a third whistle blast - Viktor - and then the fourth one for Fleur. We’re all in. Time to win this thing. I imagine myself walking out of the maze, Triwizard Cup in one hand and Fleur’s hand in the other, and I can’t help but grin. Now there’s an image that could motivate anyone to do anything. 

In one of the first chambers, as soon as I step in, all the entrances fill with a glowing green fog. Well - okay. I pick one and walk through it, and I … end up in the exact same chamber. Great. Not as easy as I’d hoped. 

A creaking noise catches my attention. I look up. In the middle of the chamber is a suit of armor. The creaking sound is the armor lifting its sword. I tense on my wand, ready to throw up a Shield charm if it attacks me, but instead, it just points at the door directly behind me. The stone base groans and creaks under the armor as it slowly turns, then points at the entrance I’d originally come in through. Finally, it points at the entrance remaining, then lowers its sword to its original spot. 

“Hello?” I call. “Can you do that again?”

Nothing. 

I hope I got it. I turn back to the door I’d come in through, then run through it, right back into the chamber. The second door spits me back into the chamber again, and it’s not until I’ve run through the final door it pointed at that I’m released back into the maze. 

As I run out, I spot a figure in pale blue at the other end of the pathway, just stepping out of a chamber. 

“Fleur!”

She turns, and she still looks confident and radiant, though I’m sure she’s nervous. I close the distance between us. 

“I don’t have long,” she says. 

“I know, me neither,” I reply. “I just wanted to tell you - Fleur, I -”

I think she knows how that sentence is going to end, because a slim finger flashes up and presses against my mouth. “No. Right now, we are opponents.” She smiles, and the warmth in her eyes makes my heart feel warm in response. “You may tell me _after_ I have won.”

I grin. “Fine. It’s a deal. I’ll tell you after _I_ win.”

Her eyes sparkle. “ _Bonne chance_.”

“Good luck to you too.” 

With a swirl of periwinkle, she’s gone, and I take a moment to orient myself before picking another door and continuing on.

Deeper in the maze, I run across a Blast-Ended Skrewt, and the damn thing sets my sleeve on fire before I can run away. I manage to douse it with water from my wand but my arm still hurts. I’m pretty sure Hagrid had to have created that thing himself, because I can’t believe any kind of god would let a nightmare like that exist on purpose. Eyes watering with pain, I take a second to pull myself together and think. The center of the maze. I entered the maze from the ... east side of the Quidditch pitch, so I want to be heading west. 

I look around. This area seems to be quiet. I rest my wand on my hand, careful to keep it level. “Point Me.” It pauses for a moment, spins once or twice as though trying to decide, then points diagonally. So that’s north. There’s an exit near where the wand is pointing, so if I take that and then head west as soon as I can, I’ll be in good shape. As long as some unnatural monstrosity doesn’t try to take my head off again, anyway.

I cross paths with Harry at one point and warn him about the Skrewt. He winces - I guess he’s had experience with them, too. He then crashes off in one direction and I go in another, still trying to head generally west.

When I step into another chamber of the maze, tendrils start curling around my ankles, and almost before I have a chance to react, they’re nearly up to my knees and starting to pull me into the wall. 

“Oh, _absolutely_ not - “ I yank my wand out and the Devil’s Snare pulls me off-balance. My wand slips between my fingers but I duck down and grab it before it can get tangled in the weeds as well. With my grip on the wand firm, I press the tip against the vine and summon fire. The vines shrink back as quickly as they’d come out, and I make sure the things are all gone before I take one more step down that passageway.

There’s a scream. It sounds like Fleur. I look around wildly, but I don’t know where she is. Is she hurt? Is someone or something hurting her? Should I try and find her? Would it do her any good? I’ll look for her, I decide. 

I orient myself. The passageway looks empty, and I hurry ahead, then clock footsteps behind me. I spin, and there’s Viktor, his wand drawn on me. His eyes look vacant and glassy. 

“Viktor? You okay, mate?” I take a step forward. “What are you doing?” He doesn’t lower his wand, just tightens his grip on it. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“ _Crucio_.”

The pain hits and I drop to the ground, writhing in agony. It’s beyond words - all I can even think of is the pain, and how it feels like it’ll never stop. I have no idea how long it goes on for. Then, as suddenly as it started, it ends. I sit up, shaking, and Viktor’s collapsed on the ground, with Harry pointing his wand at him.

“Are you all right?” Harry asks, grabbing me by the arm. I can feel it shaking in his grasp.

“Yeah. He snuck up on me, pulled his wand on me.” 

“Did you hear Fleur scream earlier?” 

“Yeah.” Realization hits me, and I feel like the air’s been knocked out of me. “D’you think he got her too?”

“Probably.” 

Merlin’s beard, I’m going to be sick. I couldn’t help her. She was tortured by this - this - _monster_ , and I couldn’t help her. We debate about what to do - I’m all for leaving him here to be eaten by the Skrewt, but Harry convinces me to send up red sparks instead. I do, and then Harry and I go our separate ways.

I don’t see Harry again until we’re both feet away from the Cup, facing down an Acromantula, and it takes both of us to take it down. He’s injured his leg, and I know there’s no way he’d ever beat me to it. I could just _walk_ up to it and take it, and be the champion. I could. It would be so easy. 

But I’m an idiot. And I can’t win like that. .

We fight over it. He tells me to stop being noble and just take it, and I point out all the help he’s given me, and the unfair judgements he’s gotten - like when he stayed behind and helped all the captives get free. 

“We’ll take it together!” he says, finally, annoyed. “We’ll tie. It’ll still be a Hogwarts victory.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I loop my arm around his waist to steady him, and he puts his around my shoulders for balance. We move together, awkwardly, to the Cup, and on three, we both grab a handle. 

Something jerks behind my navel, and after a sickening, disorientating moment of movement, we’re dumped unceremoniously on … grass. I sit up, looking around.

“Where are we?”  
  
“I don’t know.” We both get to our feet, and my mind is whirling - some kind of extra Task? A bonus? What the hell is happening here?

“Wands out, d’you think?” I ask.

Harry nods, and we both step forward. We’re in a cemetery. It’s old. A short figure in a robe approaches us, carrying something. For a moment, we all just look at each other, and I can’t make any sense of any of this. 

Harry suddenly collapses, holding his forehead, screaming like he was the one on the other end of Viktor’s Cruciatus curse. 

I go to take a step towards him, and I hear a high, cold voice.

“Kill the spare.”

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ” 

There’s a brilliant bolt of green light, and I -


	8. helpless

Even though she doesn’t say it, and even though _being attacked by another champion_ was completely out of my control and I shouldn’t be held responsible for the fact that Viktor Krum is, apparently, a psychopath, I can tell that Madame Maxime is disappointed in me for not winning. _I’m_ disappointed in me for not winning. It was always a long shot, but I’d wanted it so badly. Surely that had to count for something.

There’s a sudden huge outburst from the stands, and the band starts playing a cheerful, triumphant tune. Someone must have come out with the Cup. I look up, and I don’t register what I’m seeing for a long moment.

It’s Harry, bloody and bruised, clutching the Cup in one hand, and … that’s odd, is that a mannequin next to him? It’s lying so still, and it’s wearing a black-and-yellow jersey and black track pants, with dark hair and - 

Someone screams. 

It takes me a moment to realize it’s me.

I’m frozen to the ground where I stand, completely unable to believe my eyes. I want to keep screaming, but what comes out instead are sharp, high-pitched, whining gasps, screams that catch and die in my throat. 

A figure rises from the stands and starts running down. He pauses. “THAT’S MY BOY! THAT’S MY SON!”

Cedric’s father. He runs down the stairs and gathers the - it’s not a mannequin, it’s _not_ a mannequin, it’s Cedric and he's _dead_ and his father is gathering him in his arms and sobbing. I finally find the ability to move and push away from Madame Maxime, running towards him as well. My vision is blurry, and I blink, tears spilling down my cheeks. 

“What happened?” I say, but in the chaos and shouting, no one hears me. “What happened?” No one hears me, so I just keep repeating the question, screaming it, and even if someone had answered, I don’t think I would have heard them.

I see movement, and I turn sharply. It’s Cho. Her eyes are red and puffy, and when she looks back at me, I see a thousand emotions flicker through her eyes. Anger. Disappointment. Grief. Rage. 

I don’t know what else to do, there, stuck in the moment, so I hold out my hand to her. She looks at it, then takes it, then we’re in each other’s arms, her tears soaking the shoulder of my hoodie, and I’m shaking against her neat blue-and-bronze cardigan. I look over her shoulder to see him, and I remember seeing him in the maze.

_Wait until_ after _I win_.

I love you, I think, desperate. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Why did I tell him to wait? Why did I take him for granted? Why did I laugh and act like this was no big deal? _Why didn’t I let him speak_? 

I shut my eyes tight, bury my face into Cho’s sweater, and I pray. I pray to anyone who’s listening to please let this be a mistake, please let me tell him I love him, let me see his eyes shine and hear him tell me he loves me. Please bring him back. 

Please. 

Please. 

Please.

**Author's Note:**

> Woooo, this was a tough one. Going into a love story where you know it's not gonna end well is hard. Regardless - I hope you enjoyed it!


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